


some kind of home

by ambitioncutsusdown



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: (sort of i guess i'm not good with tags), Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitioncutsusdown/pseuds/ambitioncutsusdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love only gets you so far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some kind of home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolvesofagony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolvesofagony/gifts).



> for the wonderful [vera](http://minewt.tumblr.com) because it's her birthday and she deserves nice things!!!! 
> 
> i want to tell you now that writing this was an emotional struggle and i was exhausted when i finally finished -- but i hope you like it :)))) 
> 
> (unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine)

Minho traces his fingers along the rim of his glass, staring off into space and not even noticing someone calling out his name until they nudge his side and he snaps out of it.

“What?” he asks.

Thomas is there, grinning at him and pointing towards his empty glass. “Want another one? I’m buying.”

He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, ready to shake his head. He’s already had enough, he really shouldn’t have more, he has to go home, he can’t do this anymore.

“The usual,” he says instead.

Thomas nods, waving the bartender over, but Minho’s already zoned out again.

It’s easier to pretend he doesn’t exist.

**

The next morning, his headache is killing him and Minho regrets the God-knows-how-many drinks he had last night. All he wants is to crawl underneath his sheets and not move for the next three days – not move ever again. Just forget everything and stay here until his body starts to rot and maybe his neighbours will find him three weeks later.

He ends up staying like that for only an hour, because then there’s a knock on his door and when he opens, Alby is standing there, cocking his eyebrows like he’s never been less impressed with Minho before.

He’s seen that expression a lot.

Minho lets him in without saying a word, returning to the safety of his flat and entering the corner that serves as kitchen space. He rummages through some cupboards, trying to pretend he’s making coffee even though he ran out two days ago and hasn’t felt like grocery shopping.

Actually, he hasn’t felt like grocery shopping in weeks.

Hasn’t felt like anything in weeks.

“What are you doing?” Alby finally asks, probably taking pity on him.

“I don’t know.”

“I can see that.”

Minho rolls his eyes, really not waiting for Alby and his snappy comments and fake compassion.

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you.”

Slamming his cupboard shut, Minho turns around and glares at Alby as well as his headache allows. “I don’t need checking up.”

“Newt called me.”

And just like that, Minho feels like someone punched him in the face and left him bleeding on the floor. Mentions of Newt tend to do that.

Just the thoughts of Newt tend to do that, ever since he left.

(That’s why it’s easier to drink – makes thinking harder.)

“So?”

“You called him.”

As if that first punch wasn’t enough, Alby just keeps going. Minho wonders if he’ll stop when Minho’s knock-out or if he’ll just keep kicking his unconscious body.

He hopes Alby does.

He deserves those kicks.

“When?” He doesn’t want to ask, but he needs to know.

“Last night.”

Minho groans and closes his eyes again, counting his breaths to hold back tears. Or a panic attack. Maybe both; there’s been a lot of both those past few weeks. The first one being right after Newt packed most of his things and left, screaming at Minho to get his fucking shit together because he couldn’t do this anymore.

He has very little memories of the days after that moment, but he’s sure they weren’t pretty.

Just like last night apparently wasn’t pretty, because he called Newt when he was drunk and he doesn’t remember doing it, doesn’t remember what he said to Newt. If he said anything.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.” Alby rolls his eyes and sighs. “He said you didn’t sound very well, and he thought someone needed to check up on you before you end up in the hospital. So here I am, dragging your drunk ass out of bed to see if you’re alive so I can tell Newt to stop worrying about you. He’s trying to move on, Minho, and once again you’re doing a great job at holding him back.”

Minho doesn’t say anything.

There’s hardly anything he can say to that. He knows Alby’s right – all he’s done is pull Newt back, hold him down.

It sounds romantic – living together in a shitty apartment and not having any money but not needing it because you’re so in love. Except it’s not. It’s hard and it sucks and it’s the reason Newt left him.

Love only gets you so far.

And Minho didn’t have anything to offer besides that and a shitload of problems.

“Do you still care about him?” Alby breaks the silence.

Minho looks up again; almost forgotten Alby was still there, staring at him. He takes a few seconds to think and then nods. Suspects he wouldn’t even know how to stop caring about Newt.

“Then you either let him go and cut yourself out of his life. Or you fucking _do_ something about it, Minho. Newt’s not going to come running back to you. You have to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want me to.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with that last night.”

He sighs again, leaning against the sink and burying his face in his hands. He’s too tired for this. Too hung-over. His head is killing him.

“Did I say anything to him?”

Alby shrugs, and for the first time he cracks a little smile, just gentle enough to make Minho feel guilty about it. “You’ll have to ask him,” he says, and when there’s nothing else left to say, he leaves Minho’s apartment.

Maybe it’ll only take two weeks for his body to rot.

Minho hopes so.

**

He keeps staring at his phone.

Minho told himself he’s not going to call, but he can’t help the staring.

What if he got angry at Newt and blamed him for leaving? What if he begged him to come back? What if he just started rambling about the weather?

He’s not sure which one of those would be the worst, and he blames his drunken self for calling Newt – the only person he _shouldn’t_ have called. The only person he should’ve stayed away from.

Getting over the love of your life is never easy, but Minho still managed to make things worse by fucking up time after time. And isn’t it just great that first he fucked up their relationship, and now he keeps fucking up their break up.

It says a lot about him, he thinks.

He almost makes it through the day, but in the evening it gets too much and Minho thinks he might explode if he doesn’t call Newt so he caves in, belatedly realising it’s after midnight and there’s a fair chance Newt’s asleep already, and he wants to hang up again, but before he can do so, he’s there…

“Hi?”

His voice hasn’t changed one bit. Minho isn’t sure why he was expecting him to sound different.

“Hi.”

It’s all he can say, voice breathless and his fingers gripping his phone so tightly he’s afraid he might break it.

(Not as afraid as he is about breaking himself, before he realises that he’s just kidding himself by thinking he’s not already broken.)

“Minho,” Newt says, accompanied with a sigh. Minho can’t tell if it’s a sigh of relief or acknowledgement, but it certainly isn’t annoyance, and he takes that as a good thing.

“Yeah,” he says, throat dry, suddenly not sure what to say next. Should he apologize for last night? For the past few weeks? For their entire relationship?

“Glad to know you’re alive.”

Minho nods, then says, “Yeah,” again. Waits a few beats before saying, “I, um, apparently called you? Last night.”

“Yes,” Newt says, “you did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Like Newt would say anything else, even if it wasn’t okay.

“Did I say anything?”

The silence stretches out for so long, Minho’s worried Newt has hung up on him, but then he clears his throat and speaks. “That you missed me.”

Minho can feel his heart hammering in his chest. “Oh,” he whispers.

“Yeah. Oh.”

Not knowing what else to do, Minho hangs up and drops his phone.

 _Oh_.

**

After a lot of asking and begging, Minho got Newt’s new address from Alby. Apparently he’s been living with Thomas’ ex all this time, which is sort of a surprise because Newt and Brenda never used to talk much. Maybe shitty breaks ups are a great bonding experience. Minho doesn’t really know, the only experience he has is alcohol, and that hasn’t been going all that great for him either.

He stands in front of the door for at least fifteen minutes before finding the courage to ring the bell, and even then it takes all the willpower he has not to just turn around and walk away again before anyone opens. There’s a lot of stumbling, and Minho hopes it’s not Brenda to tell him Newt’s gone. Or maybe he does hope so, so he can turn around and leave again and pretend this never happened. He’s not really sure, but it feels like he’s going to throw up soon; his stomach in knots and his palms sweaty.

It’s not Brenda.

The door opens, and Newt is standing there, wearing sweatpants and his hair in a messy ponytail, like he just rolled out of bed.

Maybe he did, because it’s seven in the morning.

Minho’s timing has never been great.

“Hi,” he breathes out, taking courage in the fact that Newt hasn’t slammed the door in his face yet.

“Hi.”

“I, um…”

Minho falls silent again, taking deep breaths. He’s seen Newt like this so many times and he’s _missed_ him, missed hearing him and seeing him and being with him, and all he wants is to follow Newt to bed and sleep with him.

He can’t remember the last time he had a decent night of sleep. Probably the last night he and Newt spent together.

He’s starting to believe in that _don’t know what you got until it’s gone_ saying. Except he’s always known what he had – the privilege of being in love with Newt and of Newt being in love with him as well.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I miss you.”

There; he said it. He’s said it while sober and staring at Newt and trying not to hyperventilate.

“You told me so.”

“I meant that.”

Newt sighs and shakes his head. “Come in,” he says, turning back and walking into Brenda’s studio. She’s either still asleep or not around, because it’s empty and silent. Newt makes him sit down on the couch while he fixes them coffee, and a few minutes later he returns with two mugs, handing one to Minho and taking a seat next to him.

“You couldn’t have done this a few hours later. I stayed up studying until two last night.”

“I’m sorry,” Minho says, and he is.

He’s sorry for everything he did wrong – from waking Newt up too early to messing things up between them.

“I know.”

Minho takes a sip, trying to force the uncomfortable silence away, but he can’t.

“I’m shit.”

“I know,” Newt repeats, but there’s a hint of fondness in his voice that wasn’t there earlier.

“I want to make it up to you.”

“By calling me when you’re drunk and waking me up in the middle of the night?”

“It’s seven a.m.”

“You always liked to argue about that.”

Minho sighs, staring into his mug. The coffee tastes like crap but still he takes another sip.

“I want you to come back,” he says a moment later, glancing sideways at Newt to see his reaction.

“You know I can’t, Minho. We’ll just end up fighting again. I don’t wanna fight with you anymore.”

Shaking his head, Minho puts his mug down on the coffee table and drags a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’ll be different. We won’t fight anymore.”

“You can’t _not_ fight, Minho.”

“I can try.”

Newt flashes him a sad smile and sighs. “Minho.”

Minho nods, because he understands. He doesn’t need Newt to say it.

He’s not coming back.

Minho stands up and leaves.

**

He gets drunk that night, deliberately leaves his phone at home so he can’t call anyone. He thinks Gally is the one who brings him home that night, but he’s not completely sure.

When he wakes up again, he’s sick and alone and he wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling sorry for himself.

**

Hours turn into days and Minho can’t remember the last time he left his flat, but he’s not feeling like going outside and facing the world. Seeing how everyone just moves on without him – how Newt eventually is going to move on without him, and he’ll be stuck here, on his own.

Maybe it’ll be easier to stop caring about himself when everyone else does as well.

He has time. He’s not going anywhere.

**

They’re honest to god calling it an Intervention – Thomas has seen too many chick flicks and taken them all too seriously.

But here he is, being rescued by his friends. Alby ordered him to take a shower and Thomas and Gally are paying for dinner and Frypan has made a list of acceptable conversation topics. It’s all very nice, but Minho wants to tell them all to suck it up and go home, leave him alone. It’s what he deserves and it’s how he’ll end up being anyway – best to quicken the process instead of postpone it.

They’re not giving in.

And maybe Minho has to admit that it’s not all that bad. If he stops thinking about Newt for longer than five seconds, it’s actually quite nice to be out with his friends again.

But after those five seconds, he thinks about Newt again and how much he misses him and how he should have been here as well, and he feels even worse than before, and by the end of the evening, when he’s home again and everyone else has left, he’s a wreck.

He trashes half the apartment, throwing glasses to the floor and breaking plates and smashing everything he walks past. He falls asleep on his bathroom floor and cries when he wakes up.

**

Cleaning his apartment takes almost a week – he keeps finding glass and pieces of… things, can’t tell what it used to be, everywhere. After three days he asks Gally for help (because he knows Gally won’t shake his head and tells him to suck it up), and together they fix most things and buy everything that needed to be replaced.

It looks pretty neat when they’re finished, Minho has to admit as he walks around nine days later. Better than before.

Maybe it’ll be okay.

**

Everyone is really supportive when Minho says he wants to go back to school – finish his theatre degree he started and abandoned “for art’s sake” earlier. Alby tells him to call him if he needs something. It’ll take a few months before Minho can apply to the school, but they all say they believe in him. That he can make it.

Thomas walks home with him and says, “You’re trying, aren’t you?”

Minho nods.

“Is it for Newt?”

“It’s for myself.”

Thomas smiles at him and gives him a hug, which surprises Minho, but he thinks he can get used to this again.

**

The real surprise comes the next morning, when Minho wakes up to the sound of someone banging on his door.

He tugs on the first shirt he finds and rushes to open it, ready to tell whoever it is off for making so much noise, but he falls silent as he sees Newt standing there.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Minho whispers, staring at him like he can’t believe Newt’s really here. Like he’s afraid he might be imagining things.

“Can I come in?”

He silently takes a step to the side to let Newt walk in, and then closes the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Not gonna offer me anything to drink, Minho?”

“Just answer my question.”

Newt glances around the room, seems to nod to himself. “This place looks good.”

Shrugging, Minho’s suddenly all too aware he’s not wearing anything but boxers and an old dark blue shirt. He feels strangely naked underneath Newt’s gaze.

“I tried,” he replies.

 _I tried, Newt, and I’m still trying, every day. I deserve to get my life back on track and I deserve you and I want you so please come back so we can try together_.

He stays silent.

“I can see that.”

Newt smiles at him, and Minho finds it a little bit easier to breathe.

“Looks good.”

“Me or the apartment.”

That makes Newt laugh, and Minho realises how much he’s missed that. Hearing Newt’s laugh and being the person to make him laugh.

“Do you want something to drink?”

Newt nods, drags a hand through his hair. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**

They have breakfast together, just like they used to, and it’s so easy and nice it makes Minho ache.

By the time Newt leaves he feels ten times better and ten times worse.

It’s by far the strangest feeling he’s ever had.

**

Three days later, his phone rings. The names ‘NEWT’ is flashing on the screen. Minho swallows his nerves as he picks up.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He thinks Newt’s smiling, but he can’t tell for sure.

“What are you doing tonight?”

Minho frowns and waits a second before replying. “Nothing?”

“Wanna go on a date with me?”

It’s been ages since he’s felt butterflies instead of regret, and Minho doesn’t have to think twice about his answer. “I’d be honoured.”

**

It’s just dinner and movies but Minho feels fifteen all over again and he gets to hold Newt’s hand in the dark and they keep smiling at each other and they still have their inside jokes and they talk about everything except the past few months and by the time Minho gets home, he feels like dancing, and he thinks he’s in love with Newt all over again, and then he thinks he’s never been out of love with Newt. He’d just forgotten love could feel so good.

**

“Alby told me you’re going back to school?” Newt asks him a few days later.

Minho nods, too distracted by wondering if he could get away with holding Newt’s hand in public. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I miss it. I wanna do what I love again.”

Newt sends him the most blinding smile Minho has ever seen.

(If it was a test, he’s sure he passed.)

**

They’re hanging out on Minho’s couch and watching reruns of America’s Next Top Model. Minho’s rooting for the cute blonde. Newt’s rooting for Tyra Banks (“She’s not a contestant, Newt.” “Minho, _everyone_ roots for Tyra, no matter what.”)

Halfway through judging panel, Newt nudges his side. “Why did you do all this?”

“Watch Next Top Model? Because it’s fun.”

“You know what I mean.”

Minho sighs, glances down at where Newt is holding his hand and their fingers are laced together. “Because I wanted to get better. I wanted to feel like me again.”

“So you didn’t do it to get me back?”

He glances up at Newt’s face, holds his breath. “Newt, you should know by now that you’re part of me.”

Newt leans in to kiss him.

**

It takes eight days for Newt to move back in again, and Minho is sure he’s never been this happy. He says so to Thomas, who laughs at him and tells him that’s exactly what he said the first time Newt moved in with him.

Minho tells him that this time, it’s better.

**

Two years later, Newt finds a ring in their kitchen drawer. He puts it on the kitchen table and waits for Minho to come home, exhausted after class.

Minho pales when he sees the ring, sputters “how did you find it?” and Newt just laughs.

“Minho, you know _I_ know all your hiding places.”

“I wanted to make it romantic.”

“So it’s true? It _is_ an engagement ring?”

“What else did you think it was?”

“How long have you had it?”

Minho shrugs. “Couple of weeks.”

“And you haven’t asked me yet?”

“I chickened out.”

“Because you had doubts?”

“Because I thought maybe you would have doubts.”

Newt shakes his head fondly and beckons Minho closer. “Ask me now.”

And Minho does; picks up the ring and takes Newt's hand, asks him to marry him, and there’s still fear in his eyes – fear that Newt might say no to him.

He doesn’t.

He kisses Minho and whispers “yes, you fucking dumbass,” against his lips.

Minho wraps his arms around him and plans to never let go again.


End file.
